


Obscured

by Combination_NC



Category: Dragon Age
Genre: Chess, Chess porn, F/M, Mage Rules Chess, Subtle porn, Woman on Top
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-04-20
Updated: 2012-04-20
Packaged: 2017-11-04 00:49:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,105
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/387826
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Combination_NC/pseuds/Combination_NC
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She seems like nothing more than an old witch at first, but it is as if the very Veil itself is thin around her, moving to suit her needs and revealing what she wills it to. When she suggests a game of chess, he accepts. The winner gets a token of their choosing.<br/>Written for Flemeth Fanweek, taking place during the early The Stolen Throne.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Obscured

It was rare for Flemeth to receive visitors at her hut, and for the visitors to include royalty rarer still. Rarest of all were visitors she, in her own manner, welcomed.  
These two were young and foolish, but not as foolish as the man who had come before them. The blond man at least had the sense to show her some courtesy, and his apparent fear was not misplaced. Not that she would have allowed the sylvans to kill him; he was needed, but that was not something he had to hear from her. She told him other things, words she knew he would disregard until it was too late.   
  
And he told her what she wanted him to; his yes to a promise to keep secret from all others.  
  
“I accept.”  
  
The inside of the hut was not much of an improvement from the outside, Maric thought, and the outside was littered with corpses in varying stages of decay. The inside of the small building was not a makeshift graveyard, but there was still something  _wrong_ with it, something disturbing hanging in the air that he could not quite put his finger on. It made him feel as if he were underwater; his senses disoriented and only seeing part of what was in front of him, much like trying to look through murky water. Something was amiss, and the further he followed her the less it mattered.  
  
“Now, how about a game of chess?” The witch asked in that way that seemed more a statement than a true question. “You do play, I assume.” No room for declining.  
  
With his mouth suddenly so dry, he could only nod. He had been taught.  
  
The witch gave him a crooked smile as she looked over her shoulder, and his vision seemed to flicker. She looked… younger, somehow, despite the mass of white hair.  
  
“As you are my guest, you will choose colour first,” she said as she set out a hackneyed wooden board with accompanying well worn pieces, made out of… something he did not want to dwell too closely on.  
  
“I… would like black, if you do not mind,” he managed to get out, because the white ones did not seem to be made out of wood at all.  
  
“Excellent choice.” By the way she smiled, he had to agree. He had made the right one.  
  
He had never been much of a player and was thus not able to create many opportunities to capture any of her pieces, but he did not mind in the least. This game with its winning or rather inevitable losing was not a matter of pride. In truth, he was not sure of what it was about at all. He watched her move the pieces quickly across the board, seemingly needing no time at all to plan her moves. Her fingers were… not those of an old woman, not any old woman he had ever seen before. Too strong, too nimble, too smooth, lacking the raised veins and shriveled skin he associated with old age. Yet she was old, at least he thought she  _had_ to be; he could hear it in her voice even as his vision blurred and he almost thought he could see traces of a much younger woman where the old witch should be.   
  
As she spoke, it was easier to remember what she ought to be, to not become too intrigued and lose himself in a younger face.  
  
“I knew a mage of the tower once,” she said in a tone that implied that  _knew_ meant more than knowing someone as a conversation partner. “The winner gets a token of their choosing from the defeated. Will this be such a game, young man?”  
  
Her eyes caught his and he nodded without thinking. Was he curious or simply enthralled? There was something about her that pulled him towards her, something more than common magic. When she called him  _young man_ he felt like a pebble lying at the bottom of an ancient mountain.  
  
“May I… ask questions?” He vaguely felt as if he should have hesitated more to ask even that, but for a moment his tongue was not his own.  
  
She tossed her head back and laughed, a sound of amusement. “In the same way I may not answer.” She smiled at him, knowingly. “You sense that I am older that the body I inhabit.”  
  
He could only nod, his mouth once more as dry as a rainless summer.  
  
“I give some people that impression,” she said dismissively, and he did not dare ask her more.  
  
And his pieces fell one by one, until the most important one was taken. She could have captured it earlier but had preferred to toy with him, dragging the game out.  
  
“And now, for my token.” She rose and walked further into the hut and he followed her without a word, catching her black mantle as she let it fall from her shoulders. He could not see her smile, but somehow it hung in the air; pleased.  
  
“You will lie with me, if you are willing,” she said as she gestured towards a too small bed. He realised that he had been the moment he agreed to the game, and as if she could read his mind her black robes fell to the floor, revealing a body that was not as old as he had imagined it to be.  
  
“Surprised? Do not be so easily fooled by a voice alone.” It was not a mockery, and he did not protest, undressing himself as he let his eyes drink the image of her.  
  
It was nothing like he would have expected, if he had allowed himself time to build up any expectations. She guided him to lie down on his back, straddling him, hardening him with expert hands before descending on him. He held onto her hips at first; strong hips that decided on the pace, knowing when to slow down to deny him, knowing how to tease. She invited him to touch, to explore, to experience all of her, to revel in her flesh and hair.  
  
When she allowed him on top on her, he had long since lost all thoughts of her as  _the witch_ or the _old woman_ ; for longer than he could put words on, she had been  _the woman_ in his mind. In his mind, in his arms, and so tightly around him, and he was hers.  
  
For a while afterwards, when all his strength had gone, she allowed him to hold her close, her amusement apparent when she spoke.  
  
“Now, for the promise.”


End file.
